


encounter

by Anonymous



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Ancestors (Homestuck), F/M, Ficlet, Illustrations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:00:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23366611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: You knew it was going to snow, but not this badly. Maybe you would have waited at the last camp if you had.(two fugitives happen upon each other in the woods near dawn.)
Relationships: The Disciple/The Signless | The Sufferer
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14
Collections: Anonymous





	encounter

**Author's Note:**

> i don’t know what possessed me to write homestuck fic in the year 2020. and draw for it, to boot!
> 
> these are some real 2011-style characterizations, like pre-dancestor introductions, i guess because i started writing this not actually expecting to go anywhere with it and those early fandom versions of these characters are the ones most strongly imprinted on my subconscious. for maximum enjoyment, you can imagine you are reading this in 2011. or i guess they could be alpha ancestors, if you want. whatever improves your experience the most.

You knew it was going to snow, but not this badly. Maybe you would have waited at the last camp if you had. You turned your ankle in a snowdrift a while back and it’s hurt to walk ever since, so you sank down against the trunk of this tree and told yourself you were just going to rest for a minute.

Well, it’s definitely been longer than a minute now. It’s hard to tell with the sky so soupy with snow clouds, but you think it’s going to be daybreak soon. You need to get moving again, but your ankle hurts and you’re a little lost and were making very bad time before you even stopped. There’s no way you’re going to get to your destination as planned. You’re going to have to find somewhere to hide out, if you could just get up and start looking for shelter, but the cold has your body trying to dip into the beginning stages of torpor and your brain and all your muscles feel so so slow. It was a mistake to let yourself stop moving in this kind of cold, you’re still lucid enough to realize, but standing seems so impossible now. If it stays this cloudy, you think, with the more prudent parts of your decision lobes dulling in the chill, maybe you could just stay under the tree cover, pull your hood over your face and wait out the day, make it out without burning too badly…

You hear movement. You’re not sure at first over the wind, but then it comes clearer, draws closer, and you’re stirred a bit from the stupor settling over you. You’re able to make yourself move your head to look around for the source of it.

There’s a shape moving among the trees a little distance away. It’s hard to make out the form between the trees and the snow blowing around, but from the size and the way it moves you think it’s a troll.

The figure moves, stops, then moves again.

Whoever it is must know you see them. The approach the figure makes is watchful, halting in its steps, but more canny than cautious. They seem to be sizing you up. You don’t move.

You see her clearly when she finally comes around the tree across from the one you’re resting against. She considers you with big eyes, and then steps out into the space between the two of you. She walks through the snow very precisely, with more expertise than you. It’s the kind of walk that wouldn’t twist an ankle falling like a dumbass.

She’s dressed in the bulky dark furs of some unidentifiable beast, which look much warmer than your thin cloak. An oliveblood, judging by the colors of the garment you can see rustling under her furs. She’s small—or at least short, it’s hard to make out any musculature under all her layers—but she looks like she has some kind of weapon on her belt. She doesn’t seem aggressive right off the bat, which you’re glad for, but you prepare to brace yourself for the pain of springing up on your injured ankle if it looks like there’s going to be a scuffle. 

You don’t display your blood color on your clothes when you travel—you’re brazen, but not stupid—but she must know by the looks of you that you’re up to no good. No one comes through this route at this time of sweep unless they’re trying not to be seen. Maybe that’s what makes you slow to get to your feet in defense: the notion that if she’s here, she must be dipping under someone’s radar as well.

She comes to a stop a few feet away from you. For a moment, neither of you speak.

Then she says, “Mew look cold.”

“Yes,” you say, too sluggish to be properly defensive. “That is an accurate assessment of my current situation.”

“You’re going to fur-eeze to death if you sit under that tree all day.” She slinks a few steps closer. “Unless that’s what you want? Maybe you’re a pandemonimonk or something who’s finally gained true and complete understanding of the savage nature of the universe and now you’ve come out here to die in solitude.”

“I’m not a pandemonimonk,” you say. “And I’m not _trying_ to freeze to death.”

“Well,” she says, “mew don’t really seem to be doing that much to stop it from happening, either.”

Okay, this time you’re sure you didn’t mishear it, she definitely said “mew” instead of “you”. You decide that’s enough of that, time to get moving. 

As you try to get to your feet, your ankle twinges again and you stumble a bit. It feels worse than ever, and you think something’s swelling pretty badly down there. You steady yourself against the tree trunk as you try to figure out how the hell you’re going to walk on it like this.

The stranger peers at your leg. 

“Are you injured as well as underdressed, Mr. Pandemonimonk? You seem highly unprepared to be out here. Purrhaps you should have a chaperone.”

You lean against the tree, trying to take the weight off your injured leg. “Doesn’t sound like such a bad idea at this point,” you say.

She trots right up to you and wiggles between you and the tree, fitting neatly under you at armpit level. She throws your arm around herself, and as you understand what she’s trying to do, you take a step, leaning on her. She’s strong, and you can brace yourself against her with surprising steadiness.

Then she takes the stole-like fur garment off her shoulders and throws it over yours. The inside of it carries just the slightest trace of low-burning midblood body heat.

“Come with me,” she says. “I’ll show you the way.”


End file.
